


Steady

by sciencefictioness



Series: Blood Apron [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Donor Reinhardt, M/M, Vampire Sigma, brief angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22207186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: He tries to be patient.He waited almost a year to ask Reinhardt not to feed anyone else, he can wait another before pushing for something more.  Live-in contacts were rare enough as it was, let alone so quickly after a donor-client pair becomes exclusive.Siebren keeps time by the stars, eons passing with no discernable change.  Things shift, and die, but it’s mostly the same; it shouldn’t be so agonizing for him to keep still.He isn’t patient, it turns out.Not when it comes to Reinhardt.Siebren asks the only way he can say anything of importance without hesitating— with his face shoved into Reinhardt’s chest, tucked away in his arms where nothing else can reach him.  Reinhardt’s scent in his nose.Reinhardt’s blood in his mouth.
Relationships: Sigma | Siebren de Kuiper/Reinhardt Wilhelm
Series: Blood Apron [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420858
Comments: 22
Kudos: 127





	Steady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PanPineapplePen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanPineapplePen/gifts).



> Thanks to panpineapplepen for the commission! <3

He tries to be patient. 

He waited almost a year to ask Reinhardt not to feed anyone else, he can wait another before pushing for something more. Live-in contacts were rare enough as it was, let alone so quickly after a donor-client pair becomes exclusive. 

Siebren keeps time by the stars, eons passing with no discernable change. Things shift, and die, but it’s mostly the same; it shouldn’t be so agonizing for him to keep still.

He isn’t patient, it turns out.

  
Not when it comes to Reinhardt.

Siebren asks the only way he can say anything of importance without hesitating— with his face shoved into Reinhardt’s chest, tucked away in his arms where nothing else can reach him. Reinhardt’s scent in his nose.

Reinhardt’s blood in his mouth.

_ I want to sign a live-in contract with you, if you’re willing,  _ he says, words mumbled into Reinhardt’s collarbones. Reinhardt’s hands are moving over his back, and they still all at once, the steady pounding of his heart going erratic for a moment. 

_ You want me to stay here with you,  _ Reinhardt asks, and Seibren nods against him. There’s a heavy beat of silence. Reinhardt squeezes him just a bit tighter.  _ Sure you won’t get tired of me? _

Siebren nods again, then isn’t positive if it’s clear what he means.

_ I’m sure,  _ he adds, willing to speak up to make certain Reinhardt understands. Reinhardt kisses his temple. Starts petting over his back again.

_ I thought you’d never ask,  _ Reinhardt says, as though he’s been waiting for ages.

Like it hasn’t been scarcely a month since Siebren was his only client.

Siebren smiles, warm all over, and hides his face for as long as Reinhardt will allow. He hadn’t expected him to say no, but he’s still surprised to hear him say yes. Having Reinhardt live with him had been an abstract concept, but now it’s real. Now it’s happening.

Reinhardt in his house every morning, and every night. Reinhardt’s food in his kitchen. Reinhardt’s clothes on his floor. His chest hurts like it hasn’t since he was turned, heart stuttering and stopping and trying to decide what it should do, if it should keep beating at all. Siebren remembers laying on the ground in the middle of the forest, wet leaves scattered around and splashed with his blood. Remembers the stars overhead, millions of them, some he’d never seen before. His maker standing a few fate away looking at the sky like he wasn’t even there,  _ look at them, Siebren. _

_ Aren’t they magnificent? _

They were, and they are, but Sibren has finally learned to find magnificence right here on the ground. In flesh, and bone. In the rumble of Reinhardt’s voice. Siebren wonders if he’ll will want to take the guest room, or if he’ll share his bed. Reinhardt under his covers. Reinhardt pressed against him, skin on skin.

Reinhardt coaxes Siebren’s face out of his chest, fingers warm against his jaw,  _ kiss me, darling. _

Siebren does.

It’s easy.

-

It’s been over four centuries since Siebren has truly eaten, and even then he wasn’t much of a cook. He has a feeling it’s changed a lot in the meantime. 

That saying about cooking being an art and not a science has enough truth to it that when he gets home from the grocery store with far too many bags stuffed with meat and fruits and vegetables he knows better than to try. He looks up food storage, does his best to get things organized in his disused refrigerator and dusty kitchen cabinets; he doesn’t know how to cook, but he could learn, maybe.

Reinhardt could teach him.

It doesn’t happen all at once. The official move-in date he’s arranged with Blood Apron is on a Saturday, but Reinhardt doesn’t wait that long. On his next visit he brings some of his clothes— asks very casually if there is room in Siebren’s closet, or his dresser, or if it would be better if he put them in the guest room.

Asking if he can sleep in Siebren’s room without making him say it. Siebren scratches the back of his head and looks at the floor and pulls out a pair of empty drawers, then opens his closet. It’s a spacious walk-in with only a fraction taken up by his own things; sweaters and suits and button-ups. A half dozen pair of near-identical shoes.

_ Perfect,  _ Reinhardt says, and kisses him on the cheek.  _ Thank you. _

He puts everything away neatly. Then he laces their fingers together and pulls Siebren into the living room, sitting on the couch and tugging Siebren down with him.

-

Their first day together comes only twelve hours or so after Siebren’s most recent appointment with him. Reinhardt shows up early in the morning, just as Sibren is getting ready for bed. He looks ragged, like he hasn’t slept, and the concern must be evident on Siebren’s face.

“I stayed up last night so I could sleep with you! Need to get our schedules synced up, yes?”

Siebren flushes hot and steps aside to let him inside.

“You didn’t have to do that if… I mean, it’s not…”

He closes the door behind them, and Reinhardt cups his cheek with one hand, thumb dragging across his bottom lip.

“I want to spend as much time with you as I can. If that’s alright, of course.”

Siebren drops his eyes, and nods, and tries to quell the euphoria sailing through him. Reinhardt is there with him, and he isn’t leaving for a long, long time. He’ll be there before Siebren leaves for work in the evening. When he comes home in the early hours of the morning in the dark, watching television or reading books on Siebren’s couch while he’s away. It’s hard not to smile, but he knows it would look manic and absurd so he fights it down as best he can.

There isn’t much left to do before bed, which cuts down on the awkwardness that’s sure to come from sharing a space with someone he’s only just coming to really know, yet is hopelessly in love with. The lights are already off save the soft glow of the bedside lamp, blackout curtains drawn across the windows. Reinhardt puts his last bag down in the bedroom and disappears into the bathroom— there’s running water, and the quiet sounds as he brushes his teeth. 

Siebren’s sitting on the edge of the bed when Reinhardt comes out in some pajama pants and a worn out t-shirt. It’s one of the things he realizes he hasn’t allowed himself to think about. Reinhardt in comfortable clothes, barefoot and even more at ease than usual. He crosses to room to stand a few feet away, inclining his head towards the door.

“I can sleep in the guest room, if you like. It’s not a problem.”

It is a problem, though. The urge to look down is overwhelming, but Siebren resists. He meets Reinhardt’s eyes. Holds his gaze. Shakes his head. 

He’d bought a king size bed for this. Pillows, sheets, blankets, all with the quiet hope that he wouldn’t be sleeping in it all alone with Reinhardt on the other side of the house. Reinhardt smiles and takes another few steps forward, reaching out to touch his face. 

“You’re sure?” Siebren nods, his own smile barely there, but Reinhardt’s is wide enough for the both of them. “Scoot over then. I take up a lot of room.”

Siebren pulls the blankets further down and slides in underneath them, stopping well over halfway across the bed, giving Reinhardt plenty of space.

Space he doesn’t want, evidently. Reinhardt clicks off the light and crawls in behind him, throwing an arm around Siebren and dragging him closer, until Reinhardt’s chest is flush against his back. He nuzzles into Siebren’s neck and squeezes him, making a pleased sound low in his throat.

“Is this alright?”

He nods, then catches himself; Siebren can see perfectly in the blackness, but Reinhardt can’t. 

“Yes, I… please.”

Reinhardt exhales roughly and squeezes him tighter.

“Ah, Liebling. I didn’t think you’d let me hold you like this so soon. You feel so good.”

Siebren breathes through the tightness in his throat, swallowing around it, wrenching his eyes shut as his face heats. He eases his feet backwards until they’re pressed mostly flat against Reinhardt’s shins; he’s always so warm. Reinhardt presses back against the pressure without flinching at the cold, humming softly.

Sleep comes fast, and deep, and dreamless.

-

He wakes late the next evening, well past when he’d normally get up even without an alarm set. Reinhardt is sliding back into bed beside him, smelling like mint and tugging him close. There’s a moment of confusion but it passes quickly— of course Reinhardt is here. Siebren blinks drowsily at him, eyes focusing easily in the dark. Reinhardt’s fingers run over his face, over his cheekbones, settling on his mouth.

“Good evening, Siebren.”

Then Reinhardt is kissing him, slow and gentle and with all the affection in the world. Siebren surges into it, clinging to Reinhardt’s clothes, his knee slipping between Siebren’s thighs. He’s kissed Reinhardt a hundred times, but there’s something different about it in the pitch black of Siebren’s room, tangled up in a bed they slept in together. Reinhardt’s hips rock idly forward, both of them hard in their clothes. Siebren is still embarrassed by it, but not the way he used to be; Reinhardt has felt him like this countless times, just as he has felt Reinhardt. They’re both good at ignoring it, now.

Reinhardt coaxes his mouth open, and Siebren opens for him like always. It doesn’t go on as long as Siebren would like before Reinhardt is breaking away, but then he eases Siebren’s face into his neck.

“Drink, darling. Take what you need.”

Siebren whines and sinks his teeth into curve of Reinhardt’s throat, pulling out to feel blood spill thick over his tongue. It’s messier like this, both of them laying in bed, Siebren’s fingers trembling as he fists the cotton of Reinhardt’s shirt.

It’s better than it has ever been, Reinhardt’s hands on his hips, guiding his awkward grinding into a steadier rhythm. He hadn’t noticed what he was doing— that he was rutting so eagerly against Reinhardt as he fed, making pitiful noises. Siebren tenses and starts to pull back, but Reinhardt holds him in place with an arm around his waist, palm pressing gently into the back of his head.

“No, shhh, it’s alright. Keep going, precious. I want you to.”

Siebren shudders and latches onto the bite again, hips rolling as Reinhardt moves with him, blood roaring in his ears. Time drags, and stretches, meaningless as he feeds and fucks into him.

He doesn’t know how long it goes on— only that he’s glutted when he shakes through his orgasm, coming in his clothes with Reinhardt’s blood smeared warm around his mouth.

“There you are, just like that,” Reinhardt says, petting over Siebren’s short hair, not giving him room to escape. “Beautiful.”

Siebren is breathless, gasping as he lays a palm on Reinhardt’s chest.

“That was- I’m- thank you, I-”

Reinhardt laughs, soft and indulgent.

“You don’t need to thank me. Thank you, for letting me take care of you.”

Siebren doesn’t nod, doesn’t respond right away. Reinhardt’s blood is still soaring through him in warm, dizzying waves. Part of Siebren’s mind insists on reminding him that he’s paying Reinhardt for this.

The other part knows that Reinhardt wouldn’t allow him to if he did not want it in the first place.

“You’re always welcome,” he says eventually, and Reinhardt noses into his temple and kisses him there.

“Mmmm, I’ll keep that in mind.”

They lay there for a while, until the mess in Siebren’s clothes becomes too much to ignore and he extricates himself from Reinhardt’s grip to take a shower. There’s blood on his lips, on his chin. Rienhardt is in his kitchen digging through the fridge.

Siebren puts his face in his hands, and hides in them a while.

-

They settle into each other faster than Siebren expects.

They sleep through the days together, Reinhardt in less and less clothing until eventually he’s crawling into bed in just his boxers, pressed close and drawing Siebren into him. They wake together every evening, Reinhardt coaxing him drink more often than not— from his throat, or the bend of his elbow. His forearm, his bicep, his wrist.

The swell of his pectoral. The inside of his thigh. Siebren sinks his teeth in and looks up at Reinhardt through his lashes, black eyed and enraptured by the taste of him.

The bites won’t scar, not with how delicately Siebren feeds, but spreading them around seems kinder than leaving a dozen wounds on Reinhardt’s throat. He’s never been so well fed.

Never been so well loved, Reinhardt’s hands slipping into his clothes every morning, working him until he comes apart. Reinhardt kissing down his jaw, down his chest, down his stomach. Reinhardt taking Siebren into his mouth and swallowing everything he has to give. 

Siebren has always been shy. He doesn’t have a lot of experience in this, even at over four hundred years old, but he’s good at following directions. Reinhardt takes his hand sometimes, urges him to close his fingers around Reinhardt’s cock. They’re too short to wrap around entirely, but it’s close enough. Reinhardt is big, heavy in his hand. Siebren’s mouth waters as he strokes him, Reinhardt breathing hard and holding him tight. If he were human, Reinhardt could break him.

He isn’t, and he can’t, but Siebren thinks he might like Reinhardt to try anyway.

Reinhardt slicks his thighs with lube, once. Squeezes them together and shoves his cock between them, both of Siebren’s legs thrown over one shoulder. He fucks him like that, dragging against Siebren with every thrust. He lays his palm over Siebren’s cock— Reinhardt’s hand covers him entirely, and he presses Siebren flat against his stomach but doesn’t stroke. Reinhardt fucks him, and Siebren muffles his mouth with one hand and fists his pillow with the other, whining and grinding into Reinhardt’s palm and coming so hard his ears ring.

It isn’t all the two of them in bed together, Reinhardt teaching Siebren all the ways he can make him shake.

It’s also the two of them in the kitchen, Reinhardt showing Siebren how to make pancakes, how to use the toaster, how to brew coffee. How to choose fruit at the grocery store. How to work the oven, the microwave, the slow-cooker, protesting all the while.

_ You don’t need to cook for me, Siebren. _

Reinhardt keeps him fed, though. He’d like to do the same, at least some of the time.

It’s Reinhardt gently taking away Siebren’s work tablet as sunrise approaches and tugging him down on the couch,  _ come watch this show with me, I think you’d like it. _

Siebren doesn’t work from home much, anymore. He sleeps longer, and stresses less.

It’s Siebren taking Reinhardt up on the balcony on the second floor, pointing one of his telescopes at the stars,  _ look, isn’t it magnificent? _

_ It is,  _ Reinhardt agrees. He isn’t always looking at the sky.

Sometimes, he is just looking at Siebren.

The time slips by more quickly than Siebren wants. Everything is easier with Reinhardt there, but live-in contracts are done in one month intervals, and three and a half weeks is gone in the blink of an eye. Reinhardt hasn’t brought it up— he’s waiting for Siebren to say something, probably.

He doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want Reinhardt to say no; sooner or later, he’ll want to leave.

It’s going to break Siebren, so he waits, but it’s been long enough. If he only has a few days left before he’s sleeping alone, he needs to know. Needs to brace himself against the hurt. He can only look at the sky for so long before it becomes obvious he’s avoiding something, and the sun will be up soon.

Reinhardt is already in bed when he comes into the room, a book propped up on one knee, hair falling out of his bun. He closes it at once, setting it down on the bedside table and glancing over. Siebren would normally just crawl past Reinhardt and settle into the space beside him, but he hesitates just inside the door, rubbing at the back of his head.

“Are you alright?” Reinhardt asks, sitting up and setting his feet on the floor. Siebren shrugs and bites his bottom lip before clearing his throat.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… I mean I’ve been wondering, that is, if… it’s been almost a month, and I just…”

“You wanted to know if I intended to sign another contract with you.” 

Siebren nods and looks down. There’s a long silence, made longer by his nerves, then— 

“I hadn’t planned on it, no.”

There’s nausea first, then dizziness. Siebren can’t get air into his lungs. He hadn’t expected him to say yes, but he’s surprised to hear him say no all the same. 

Siebren shouldn’t be. Four hundred years, and he’s never been this happy.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

“Oh,” he says, and it’s soft, and small. “I see. Alright.”

It isn’t alright. He’d thought they were getting closer, thought maybe Reinhardt felt even a fraction of what he’d been feeling. The adoration living unchecked in his veins.

The love welling higher and higher until Siebren doesn’t know what to do with himself. Reinhardt doesn’t want him like that.

Reinhardt doesn’t want to stay.

He can’t be there, right now, in the place where they’ve been sleeping, in a house that’s only just started feeling like home. Siebren turns and leaves the room, moving down the hall, down the stairs.

“Siebren!” Reinhardt calls, but Siebren keeps going. Across the living room, into the kitchen, straight for the back door. The sun is rising; he’s old enough that it won’t do any real damage. A headache, probably. A sunburn if he stays out in it too long. His heart is pounding in his ears as he reaches for the knob.

Loud enough that he hadn’t heard Reinhardt running down the stairs after him, or calling his name again. He is simply there, hands on Siebren’s shoulders, bending down to look him in the eyes.

“Siebren, wait! You didn’t let me finish.” Siebren doesn’t know what good would come of that. It hurts enough already. He hunches his shoulders and looks to the side, waiting. “I didn’t plan on signing another contract because I don’t plan on working for Blood Apron anymore. I thought I’d just stay here with you. If you’d have me.”

Siebren blinks, wide eyed, meeting Reinhardt’s gaze now. Something warm spills down his cheek, and Reinhardt wipes it away with his fingers, brows drawn together.

“Don’t cry, Siebren, please. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I wasn’t going to say anything if you didn’t want to renew the contract, but I shouldn’t have let you get so far ahead of yourself.”

He pulls Siebren into a hug, and Siebren goes easily, tears pouring down his face in earnest. Reinhardt doesn’t want to sign a contract.

Reinhardt just wants to stay with him. Be Siebren’s, without money or Blood Apron or anything else between them. It’s more than he ever allowed himself to want. He only notices he’s shaking when Reinhardt picks him up, like he’s some tiny thing to be manhandled. 

“Can I take you back to bed?” Reinhardt asks, and Siebren sniffs hard and nods, tucking his face into Reinhardt’s chest. 

Going back up the stairs is slower than going down. Reinhardt is careful with him, even if it would be nearly impossible to do Siebren any real damage. He sets him down gingerly on the bed, a vaguely guilty expression on his face.

“I really am sorry. I didn’t know how to ask you if I could stay. I took too long to find the words.”

Siebren paws at his cheeks and shakes his head.

“It’s fine, I… I jumped to conclusions. I should know better.”

Siebren measures time by the stars. He knows what it means to wait. He isn’t patient, though.

Not here. Not with Reinhardt. Reinhardt’s hands are on either side of his face, drawing it up until Siebren is looking at him.

“So I can stay with you?”

Siebren smiles, a tentative, watery thing.

“Please. It’s all I want.”

Reinhardt lifts Siebren’s chin with his fingers, leaning in to kiss him soundly.

“All you want? Truly?”

Siebren lays down on the bed and Reinhardt follows after him, already working to tug off Siebren’s clothes. They’ve been through this before, dozens of times at least, but Siebren feels more frantic.

“Not… not all,” he mumbles against Reinhardt’s mouth, no longer so reticent about being naked in front of him. Still, there is usually a shyness in Siebren that doesn’t want to yield— the urge to cover himself, or hide away in Reinhardt’s chest. This time he resists.

This time he lays back against the bed and lets his thighs fall wide, cheeks flushed bright and eyes solid black, cock leaking onto his belly.

“I want… you, too.” Siebren says, and hopes Reinhardt knows him well enough not to force him to spell it out any further. 

They’ve done a lot of different things together, but never this— Siebren wants to feel Reinhardt inside him, and not only his blood. Wants all of him that he can get. Reinhardt sucks in a ragged breath, running his hand over the inside of Siebren’s thigh, drinking him in with his eyes.

“I can’t remember ever wanting anything more than you,” Reinhardt says.

When he kisses Siebren next, it isn’t gentle.

It’s rough, and demanding, and Reinhardt splays a hand on the back of his head to hold him there, keep him from turning away. His other hand roves over Siebren everywhere he can reach, fingers digging in hard. He tugs at his nipple, and squeezes his hip. Forces his thighs wider. He’d be leaving bruises on someone less sturdy than Siebren, but he can take it and then some.

Wants to take it.

Wants more.

Reinhardt nips his was down Siebren’s jaw, biting and sucking at his throat like it’s him who needs to feed instead of the other way around. He rattles around in the drawer of their nightstand without breaking away from Siebren’s skin, fingers coming back slick and urgent between his thighs.

“Tell me if anything is too much,” he says, then presses into Siebren with a single thick finger.

It’s been decades since Siebren’s slept with anyone, and it’s never been anyone like Reinhardt. There’s no pain— Siebren, for all his skittish reserve, is hardly fragile. He likes that Reinhardt treats him that way, in some things.

He’s glad he doesn’t, in this. Siebren makes a choking noise, arching into Reinhardt’s touch as he presses deeper, eases back, pushes forward again. Reinhardt runs his other palm over Siebren’s stomach and chest, tracing the curve of his shoulder, dragging a thumb over his mouth.

Then he slips it between Siebren’s lips, pressing the pad down on Siebren’s sharp canines until the skin breaks, blood pooling on his tongue. Siebren moans at the taste, lips closing around Reinhardt’s thumb as he swallows. Reinhardt’s blood warm in his mouth and his fingers working him open are overwhelming. He licks at his skin, and rolls his hips, eyes shut tight against the onslaught of sensation.

Reinhardt doesn’t go slow. It isn’t long before he’s got a second finger in Siebren, then a third. The stretch is magnificent— it will be nothing at all compared to Reinhardt himself, but Siebren’s eyes want to roll back in his head. The shallow cut on his thumb closes up quickly, and Reinhardt tears it open again on Siebren’s teeth. He curls his fingers around Siebren’s jaw and pulls his mouth wide, drool and blood dripping messy down his chin. Reinhardt is watching him intensely, lips parted and pupils blown dark.

“Think you’re ready,” he says, and Siebren nods mindlessly, laving at Reinhardt’s thumb.

He has been ready for months, now. Since Reinhardt first took his face between his hands and kissed him. Reinhardt pulls his fingers out of Siebren— from between his thighs, and out of his mouth— and takes a moment to slick himself with lube. He closes his hand around himself and strokes; once, twice. Siebren knows how it feels, the weight of it, and the heat. He presses against Siebren, the head of his cock thicker than anything Siebren has ever taken. Reinhardt pauses a moment, rubs it up and down against him.

“Please,” Siebren says, flushed and desperate, clinging to his pillow.

Reinhardt leans down and kisses him, pushing in slow and steady. Siebren whimpers into his mouth. Feels Reinhardt scorching between his thighs.

Feels him low in his belly, taking up too much space, Siebren’s stomach swelling with the size of him.

“That’s it, Liebling,” Reinhardt murmurs, petting at Siebren’s jaw. “You can take all of me.” He can. He does. Reinhardt bottoms out with a hiss, kissing Siebren’s jaw, the corner of his mouth. “You feel so good, Siebren.”

Siebren exhales roughly, swallowing around the pleas that he can’t seem to form. He whines a little. It’s enough. Reinhardt sits up. 

Hooks Siebren’s legs over his shoulders, pins Siebren to the bed with his palms, and fucks him like an animal.

Reinhardt is always so soft with Siebren, hands on his face, mouth against his temple. Quiet words, and endless patience when Sibren cannot seem to find them. He doesn’t need them now.

Reinhardt drives everything out of Siebren until all he can do is breathe and tremble underneath him. He’s noisy but he can’t seem to stop himself, ears ringing louder than the sounds he’s making. The weight of Reinhardt’s palms on his shoulders grounds him— he slides one to the center of Siebren’s chest, then lifts the other to wipe some of the drool and gore from his face.

Reinhardt lays his palm over Siebren’s mouth, thumb curving down around his chin.

“Drink, darling. Let me see those pretty fangs.”

His skin parts easily around Siebren’s teeth as they dig into the side of his palm. Siebren clutches Reinhardt’s wrist with both his hands, blood spilling messy over his tongue as Reinhardt rails into him. Smearing on his lips, and chin, and cheeks. He isn’t hungry; he’s never hungry anymore.

He’s lived with an edge of need in him for so long, starving between meals because he was too reticent to feed like he should. Reinhardt doesn’t let it touch him.

There is so much of him in Siebren now. 

He wants to keep him forever.

Siebren comes with Reinhardt’s blood in his mouth and Reinhardt’s hand over his heart and Reinhardt’s eyes lit with hunger that puts his own to shame. He fucks him through it, slowing when Siebren finally goes still, sitting up on his heels and rubbing at Siebren’s thighs where they’re resting against his chest. Reinhardt rocks forward, gently now, hesitant.

“Should I stop? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Reinhardt can’t really hurt him, but Siebren is over sensitive now that he’s come, shivering with every movement. There are tears in his eyes, and he’s sore and hazy.

Nothing has ever felt better. Siebren shakes his head.

“Please, keep going.”

Reinhardt kisses his knees, one after the other, and lets them fall down around his waist. He crowds Siebren now, nuzzling at his throat.

“Feed more if you want,” he says, starting to move again in earnest. Siebren couldn’t drink if he wanted to; there’s no room in him for more.

That Reinhardt would never deny him is still a heady thing.

He would never deny Reinhardt, either. Siebren kisses him, hands on his face, and lets Reinhardt take what he needs.

-

He burns the pancakes the first time. The second, as well. The third is a partial success— they’re still a bit misshapen, but Reinhardt insists that doesn’t matter, and that they taste just fine. Siebren doesn’t entirely believe him, but Reinhardt eats them all, so they must not be too bad. He kisses Siebren on the cheek with a grin as he carries his empty to plate to the sink.

“Thank you, love.”

Siebren doesn’t have to cover his face this time. He still flushes bright. Maybe it will pass in time.

Probably it won’t. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things, here or on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/scifictioness)


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